


The Time Thief

by MmeSatan



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Halloween Special, Vampire AU, Vampire Papa II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2020-11-10 14:37:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MmeSatan/pseuds/MmeSatan
Summary: In life, he felt he had been held back. In death, he was going to reap what he deserved.





	1. Stolen Gift

_ Genova, Italy _

_ 1343 _

Ferruccio was sitting by the fire, reading a letter he had received some months before. He skimmed through most of it, as the majority was irrelevant now, but he stopped at the section he was looking for:

_ “These are but rumors, but I thought you might be interested nonetheless. For the past year, local farmers have been fearful of a beast feeding on their livestock. Some call it the _ Apennine Beast _ , although no actual sighting of a creature has been confirmed. Local authorities say it is merely wolves, though the people I spoke to told me that their sheep were not eaten, but were found away from the flock, dead. The animals seemed to have been drained of their life, they said. More recently, a man was found dead in the area: a beggar, old and sick. Exsanguinated. I did not see the body myself, but a friend of a friend knows someone who did, and could not understand what happened to him. There are now whispers of witchcraft being involved, and people are afraid of going outside after dark. The terror has yet to reach the city, but if more deaths occur, it may very well. You are the most knowledgeable man I know when it comes to the occult, Ferruccio, and if you would like to investigate on your next visit in these parts, I will put my resources to your use.” _

He hummed to himself in thought. Returning to another missive, received only the day before, from the same Milanese acquaintance: 

_ “On the subject of that beast I mentioned to you last spring, I spoke to a man recently who claims to have encountered it. He was traveling through the mountains when he was attacked by someone (or something) lean, pale, and very obviously feral. He succeeded in escaping it, and described the grotto from which the creature had emerged in great detail. He drew a map for me, which you can see reproduced below. I am unsure if I should believe him or not. He is a foreigner to these parts and could not have heard of the beast. But the colleague who introduced me to him believes he is a lunatic who got scared by the shadow of a tree or the howl of a wolf. He is staying in Milano for the time being, would you like to interview him?” _

Carefully folding the letters, he slid them between the pages of a book, and placed the book back on its shelf. Leaving his room, he made sure to lock the door, and went to join his father and brother, who he could hear arguing about some business deal or other.

Ferruccio was the second of four sons in a rich Genovese merchant family. At 41 years old, he was no longer a young man. At his age, most men of his status were the head of their own families. But he had always preferred the company of his peers to that of marriable young ladies. His hopes of his elderly, respectable father and older brother passing, leaving him the family business and fortune, were growing weaker year after year. He loathed that he, the smartest man in all of the Republic of Genoa, had to play second fiddle to the imbeciles who were simply born before him. 

This trading expedition to Milano next week should prove the answer to his prayers. Prayers to who or what, he could not say; his studies in the fields of medicine, philosophy and alchemy taught him at an early age that the God his father worshipped so ardently was either nonexistent or impotent. Ferruccio had come to the conclusion that it was only Man that could be trusted when it came to his own fate. Still, as vague as his plan might be, it was better than seeing his father reach the venerable age of 70 while he himself had no fortune or power to speak of. That, Ferruccio could not take.

\----------------------

The journey to Milano had taken six days. Ferruccio, two of his brothers and a few of their associates had made the ride by horse, each carrying their own supplies. Once they had reached their destination, he told his eldest brother that he would leave him for the first few days of negotiations, claiming that he had been invited by an old friend to check on his experiments, and would be back in time to sign the contracts. Ferruccio was quickly dismissed, much to his pleasure, and left the inn where they stayed, taking only his horse and bags with him. 

However, instead of going to see the aforementioned old friend, Ferruccio left Milano via a northern passage -- toward the mountains. He stopped at an inn a few hours outside of town to spend the night, leaving at dawn for the mountain pass. After several hours of travel he stumbled upon a small farm, which had obviously seen better days, but as it were it stood at the foot of the range and was an excellent stopping point. It was at this farm that he left his horse and luggage behind. Ferruccio gave the farmer a silver coin for his service, with promise of more at his return. The farmer didn’t ask any questions and eagerly accepted the coinage, Ferruccio was pleased to see. He began the hike with only a small bag of supplies on his shoulder, and the letters clutched tightly in his hand.

The map drawn in the second letter had not been as precise as Ferruccio had hoped, but he was confident he had found the rock formations and grotto he was looking for, just before the sun began to set. He decided to set camp in another cave on the opposite side of the pass, but with a view of the first, and kept watch of it as darkness set in, only moonlight allowing him to see.

There was no activity for the first few hours, but eventually, a form emerged from the entrance. A tall, gangly, emaciated shadow, human in shape but not gait, furtively looking at its surroundings before rushing down the pass, the way Ferruccio had come from. It wasn’t long before the faint cries of distressed livestock could be heard echoing off of the mountains. Then, a sudden and taut silence fell once more. Before the sun came back over the horizon, so did the shadow, running into its cave like its life depended on it. 

He waited in his own grotto, sitting on the damp stone floor, until he decided that the sun was sufficiently high in the sky. He crossed the short distance to the creature’s lair with the sun on his back. At his waist was an ornate rondel dagger, a blade that never left his side, along with a coin purse and another small pouch. He carried in his left hand a large wooden crucifix; his left hand was simply adorned with a ring, a large, polished emerald set in gold. It shone in the morning light, even as Ferruccio took the first few steps into the dark cavern. Once inside, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the absence of light, before lighting a candle and carefully walking into the side of the mountain. Several hundred feet deeper into the stone, he finally saw something other than rock and puddles: a form huddled on a makeshift bed made of hay and leaves. He approached at what he estimated was a safe distance, and spoke in a loud, clear voice, cutting through the silence:

“So there you are, the _ Apennine Beast_, caught at last.”

The creature arose from its sleep very suddenly, crouching and scrambling, its thin limbs ready to pounce into attack or flight; its eyes, darting all around for an opening, their milky white tint circled in red. It had dried blood on the corner of its lips and on its tunic, an old garment, torn and clumsily put back together. For something that had been terrorizing the region for months, Ferruccio thought it quite pathetic.

“Except, you’re not a beast, are you. I know what you are.” He held the crucifix in front of him, toward the creature, who recoiled and hissed as if in agony. “You’re a vampire. I’ve heard of your kind.” He approached steadfast, feeling confident. “You’re a rather sad example. You fed on animal blood, did you? Look at you, weak and scared. You don’t like that thing, do you?” Ferruccio brought the crucifix closer to the vampire, whose back was now against the wall of stone as it emitted a low hissing sound, its thin limbs shaking. “I’ll take it away, but on one condition: you will turn me into one of your own.” It shook its head, eyes alternating between the cross and Ferruccio’s own dark blue eyes, shining in the candlelight like a stormy sea under a lightning bolt. 

“Let me rephrase that.” He smiled, a sly grin on his face. “You are going to bite me and make me a vampire, or I am going to kill you.” His tone was commanding and his stare relentless and unblinking, and the rush of adrenaline in his veins at holding power over such a mythical being, pitiful as it may be, kept him from doubting his strategy. He pressed on. “I’m a rich man, and I know these parts. Vampires should feed on humans, not sheep. I can help you find victims. I can help you get back to the glory of your past. But I need you to share your gift with me first.” The vampire seemed to relax, and Ferruccio took a step back. “Yes, I can help you cease this miserable half-life.” He uncovered his right shoulder and neck. “Do we have an agreement?” The creature paused, still as the stone around it; its eyes flicked from Ferruccio to the walls around them, to his exposed neck. Finally, it nodded, and the crucifix was thrown to the ground with a clatter against the stone.

There was a sharp bolt of pain when sharp fangs sank into flesh. He noticed idly that the sensation was akin to being stabbed with a thin blade. He felt paralyzed, unable to break free -- not that he wished to. As blood poured from his jugular and was sucked, so was his life force, and soon Ferruccio was too weak to stand on his own. But that only lasted a minute, after which the pain gave place to a wave of incredible euphoria, of pleasure so intense that it stirred things in him that had been sleeping for years. Then there was an unknown sensation, a strange energy he could feel flowing through his veins, like a hunger, a memory of something he had yet to experience.

It all lasted less than a minute as everything faded to black.

\----------------------

The first thing he noticed when he came to was how incredibly _ thirsty _ he was. He was weak and his entire being craved blood. He could smell it in the air, the scent of his own blood, dry after hours of unconsciousness, yet more pungent than anything he'd ever smelled. He’d never been able to smell like this before, he noted. His mouth was dry, pasty. His limbs felt like they belonged to someone else. Then there was the heartbeat, or lack thereof. He had no pulse, and he was cold. _ A living corpse_, he thought. 

The cold and humidity of the grotto no longer bothered him, and he noticed that he could see perfectly in the dark. In fact, his sight was shaper than ever before. All of his senses were heightened, unnaturally so, and despite the fatigue he could feel a new strength in his aging body. 

The other vampire was asleep on its nest, which seemed to be the only activity it did aside from hunting, judging from the bareness of its lair. Ferruccio was relieved, not only to still be conscious after having been bitten, but also to have his mind intact. In truth, he did not feel so different from before, mentally. Perhaps a little foggy, but his memories and all of his precious knowledge were still there, and his personality felt unchanged. _ I suppose Father was right, _ he thought, _ telling me I had no soul all these years_. He smirked.

Slowly, he stood up, testing his legs and finding them wobbly but able. He opened the pouch still hanging at his waist to lay the contents on the floor of the cave, as quietly as possible. Inside, a piece of flint and striker, a small vial of oil and, wrapped in cloth, a stake and mallet. He took the latter instruments and crept toward the sleeping creature. Another man might have argued that what he was about to do, he was doing out of pity. But Ferruccio was simply getting rid of a problem, an annoyance. He brought the stake close to it, pointed at the heart, and lifted the mallet above his head. If he hesitated for an instant before bringing the mallet down, it was only because he noticed, reflected in the still water on the ground, that his left eye had turned white. 

Despite his hesitation, only minutes later, Ferruccio emerged from the grotto into the early evening. He was followed by an ominous cloud of thick smoke and made his way down the mountain, certainly a much different man than the one who had gone up.


	2. Stolen Life

_ Monterano, Italy _

_ March, 1783 _

Ferruccio paced around his drawing room, restless. The sun had not yet set and even with heavy curtains covering the windows, this time of day made him uncomfortable. It was unusual for him to be awake before sunset, but he had a reason: he was waiting for someone. His servant, or what was left of him, had woken him an hour ago to announce that the San Bonaventura monastery would be sending their librarian to his house in the center of the city right away. The servant had been thanked, then consumed.

Eventually, there was a knock on the front door. It was soft and, in truth, it was too low to be heard from the drawing room -- that is, unless you had supernatural hearing. Ferruccio went to the door, his feet moving with such weightless speed and precision that he looked like he glided. Standing perfectly straight, he opened it and stared at the man on the other side. "Yes?” His voice was like ice.

A priest stood there, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Uuuh, Signor Volpe? I am Father Salvatore Copia, of the Padri delle Scuole Pie. I was sent from the monastery at your request?” He seemed to jitter on the spot, nervous, wringing his hands tightly together as he spoke. 

“I am Ferruccio Volpe, and I welcome you to my house.” He moved aside, gesturing to the priest to come in. He seemed fairly young and obviously very nervous, fidgeting with the cross hanging from his neck as he stepped across the threshold. “Please, follow me,” Ferruccio said, as he walked back to the drawing room, this time with slow, deliberate steps. 

The house was luxurious, with works of art spanning centuries hanging on the walls, and a collection of rare items and occult paraphernalia in various glass cabinets. The young priest stopped to stare at one item in particular: a very ancient copy of the Malleus Maleficarum. Ferruccio turned around and offered an irresistibly warm smile. “You recognize it? First edition. One of the best pieces in my collection. But please, have a seat, we have much to discuss tonight.” His voice was smooth, his tone reassuring.

Father Copia's features relaxed and he smiled, for the first time before speaking: "Yes, of course." He sat down in a chair across from his host. "The Abbott would like to thank you for your _ very generous _ donation to our order. It will allow us to do much needed repairs to the building." Ferruccio, sitting very still, simply nodded. Copia continued. "The Abbott also apologizes about being unable to send you our librarian as requested. Father Donati is old and unfortunately sick, and cannot leave the monastery. But he will gladly welcome you, should you wish to visit San Bonaventura, but I hope that my work proves to be satisfactory…"

Ferruccio nodded again, though it seemed distant and dismissive; as though he weren’t really listening. "Are you familiar with the library? I mentioned in my letter that I require several rare books for my research."

"Of course, of course," the young man replied, speaking a bit too fast. "I teach history and philosophy, I know the library like the back of my hand.” He chuckled nervously. “Well, the secular sections, anyway.” He laughed once more, this time it was a strange, self-deprecating laugh that trailed off as he looked around the room. He cleared his throat. “But, I must say, you don’t seem like a religious man, Signor Volpe.” His eyes scanned the room for a moment as he spoke.

Ferruccio raised a dark eyebrow. “What makes you think that? Did I not just send, as you put it, a _ very generous _donation to your order?” He leaned forward in his chair, waiting patiently, as he had done for centuries.

Copia began to fidget with his cross again, his eyes bouncing around the room. “Yes, yes, of course. It’s just,” he gestured at the walls, “there isn’t a single representation of Christ in your home, not even a crucifix over the door. That is… unusual.”

Ferruccio’s voice was smooth and sweet, like honey in a fly trap, but his words were harsh: “Is that a problem, _ Father_? Are you going to report me for heresy? Or is that just your _ polite _ way to decline working for me?” Ferruccio leaned back slightly in his chair, observing the man in front of him. 

Copia looked horrified; his eyes wide and his face flushed crimson. “No! No, no no no. Nothing of the sort. It’s just that it’s almost unheard of, someone openly revealing that they do not believe in God. You have to be very powerful to get away with it.” He almost whispered that last part and paused to stare at his shoes, a strange look in his eyes. “No, it’s not something one admits to.” He seemed to say more to himself then to the man in front of him, like he was suddenly thinking about something -or someone - else.

_ Interesting_, thought Ferruccio, _ a priest with a faltering faith. He could be useful. _

He smiled and opened his palms, as if to apologize. “It is not what it would appear. But I am what one would call _ eccentric_, I suppose. I enjoy collecting strange and other worldly things and I apologize if this has somehow offended you. How about we strike a deal? You keep this little secret of mine, and in return, I will grant you access to my private collection. I’ve accumulated a lot of rare books and maps over the years, I’m sure some of it might interest you.”

The young man looked up, beaming. “Thank you, Signor. I would greatly appreciate that.”

Ferruccio reached into his pocket and held out an envelope. “Here is the list of books I would like you to obtain for me.” Copia took it and nodded, tucking it in his habit.

“One more thing,” he continued, looking at Copia intensely, “I keep… unusual hours. I have a…condition. that makes the light of day very physically painful to me and I prefer to be active at night. For that reason, my personal carriage will be at your disposal to travel here and back, whenever you wish.”

The young priest gave a shy but wide smile. 

\----------------------

_ May, 1783 _

“Copia, that book on Prussian history, did you take it back to the monastery?” Ferruccio spoke without looking away from the European map that was laid out on his desk. The corners were held down by piles of books he had been reading through. 

“I believe it’s still here, let me look.” Copia rose from his chair and put down the tome he had been reading. “On this shelf, perhaps…” He looked through the volumes, humming to himself.

Ferruccio carefully placed a pin on the map and opened his notebook. “If it’s not, I’ll need you to find something in it for me.” He dipped his quill in green ink and scribbled something on the page. He stopped abruptly. “That tune you are humming, it doesn’t sound like church music. What is it?” 

Copia grabbed the desired book and brought it over to the desk, blushing as he handed the book over. “Uh, no, it’s not. It’s German. _ Das Wohltemperirte Clavier_,” he said in a rather poor accent. “I have a copy, but I don’t have many opportunities to play, these days.”

Ferruccio took the book that was handed to him and nodded. “You do spend a lot of time here, and you are still teaching, correct?” His eyes were still focused on his work, but the rich tone of his voice made Copia feel like he had his full attention. His voice always seemed warm and welcoming to Copia, like the approving and interested father he’d always wished he had.

Copia drew in a deep, sharp breath, “As a matter of fact, I gave up the position two weeks ago. After your second donation, the Abbott agreed that you deserved to have more of my time to help you with your important theological research.”

Ferruccio chuckled. “How kind of you, Father, to lie for a strange old man you barely know. I’m not sure what your _ God _ would think of that, however.”

Copia laughed, soft but bitter. “In truth, well, God and I have a…strained relationship. But you’re wrong! At least, I feel like I do know you, Signor Volpe. You have taught me so much, and you are a man of honor, I can see that. I trust you with my life.” He looked down at the desktop that Ferruccio was staring at. “I hope you trust me as well.”

“Very few have been allowed in my inner sanctum like you have, Copia,” he replied, gesturing around the room, in which all of his most precious possessions were kept. “Not even my _ servants_.” Ferruccio raised his eyebrows, a playful smirk on his lips.

Copia’s smile faltered at the mention, his eyes skittered about the room for a moment before speaking. “They scare me a little. Your servants, I mean. If I’m being honest, Signor Volpe, it seems at times their minds are not all there, you know? Like they have no will of their own. They seem to shamble about the premises, like they’re on routes; it’s very disquieting.” He shivered, returning to the bookshelf, by which yet another pile of books needed to be sorted.

Ferruccio watched the younger man’s back as he turned. “They have many tasks to perform and they are obedient. After all, it’s all I need them to be. One cannot expect men of superior intellect like ours to do cooking and cleaning, can they?” Ferruccio looked at his pocket watch. “It is getting quite late, I have kept you longer than necessary tonight. Take my carriage, I’ll have one of the servants drive you.” 

“Thank you, sir.” The priest bowed, grabbed his bag and went for the door.

“Oh, and Copia? Bring that music, tomorrow. There’s a harpsichord in one of the spare rooms. It requires tuning, but if you would like to play…”

It had been centuries since Ferruccio had been pleased to see someone smile at him.

\----------------------

_ October, 1783 _

Copia walked into the office, a look of concern on his face. His eyes bounced around the room. Like the rest of the house, its content were being put in storage. “Ferruccio, what is it with all of these chests? It looks as if you’re going away.” He forced a smile, but it was weak and small.

The older man was rolling up the map he had been using until the previous day, placing it in its case. “I am going away, Copia, is that such a surprise? I did tell you I rarely stay in the same area for very long.” His voice was clipped and curt. 

Copia recoiled in on himself slightly, wringing his hands together as he once had, months ago, when he first visited this place. When he’d been afraid and unsure of himself. “But you’ll be back in a few months, right? This house…” He gestured around himself for a moment but was cut off abruptly. 

Ferruccio shook his head. “A house is just a house, it is merely stones and wood and _ things_. I will not come back to Monterano. Instead, I am going to France.” He continued to move about the room as he spoke, gathering items here and there. 

The priest leaned against a wall, arms crossed and brow furrowed. “But you’ve only been here a few years! I thought…” He cut himself off, looking away. “I thought you liked it here. That we were going to keep working together. That we were…” He sighed, his eyes downcast to his shoes. “That was foolish, I suppose. When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow after sundown. Would you help me finish packing the books? I don’t trust servants with those sorts of things.” Copia nodded, his mouth closed in a tight line, his eyes bitter. He reluctantly took a pile of books and began to sort through them, his usual quiet hum replaced by a grim melody.

Ferruccio sighed, looking up at the ceiling as he spoke. “The _ dies irae_, really? I am moving, Salvatore, not _ dying_. Besides, you have your own little life here. It is not as though I can take you with me.” He carefully placed the map on top of the books in a near-full chest, and shut it tightly.

Copia turned around, his eyes searching the man in front of him; though for what, he did not quite know. “Why not? I could help you. You wouldn’t need those useless servants anymore. With your condition, you cannot go out much, and I know you find our conversations as stimulating as I do. I’ve learned a lot from you. About history, about the occult, too. Here,” he took a book from a nearby chair and held it up in front of himself, “Vlad Dracul, the Impaler. 15th century. Some say he was a tyrant, others say that he was a vampire, a blood-sucking beast that still terrorizes the mountains of Wallachia to this day, feeding on the locals.”

Ferruccio scoffed, his hands on his hips as he spoke. “Vlad Dracul was not a vampire, Copia. A tyrant, yes. Unnecessarily cruel, again, yes. People were afraid of him and there were rumours, yes. But I assure you, he was only a man.” He looked ahead as if lost in thought, talking to himself. “He was an interesting man though, if you were on his good side, that is. Peculiar sense of humor. Drank far too much. And was such an incredibly sore loser…” He shook his head as his lips curved into a slight smile.

Copia stared and blinked, his mouth agape. “Where did you read about all of that? About him? What text says that?” Ferruccio said nothing and instead continued to pack. His hands rushed over top of scrolls and papers, grabbing small items here and there. The silence in the room was taut. But Copia pressed again: “Signor Volpe, you speak as though you knew him.” Copia could feel a shiver crawl up his spine; Ferrucio’s movements gradually slowed as Copia continued to speak. “But that’s not possible is it? Vlad Dracul died 300 years ago.” There was a plea in his voice, a question he dared not ask. He could feel his heart beating in his chest as his mind raced. But it all added up, the disease, the way Ferruccio described events that happened centuries prior; even the servants. 

But that was impossible, _ unthinkable_. It went against everything natural: it went against God.

The atmosphere changed in the room, like a dark fog was settling in. The air grew colder, heavy somehow. Copia’s uneasiness grew with every second of loaded silence hanging between himself and this man that he thought he knew. This man who he thought of as his friend, someone he looked up to. This man who, now, displayed a complete demeanor change. He suddenly seemed emptied of emotions; cold and calculating. There was a terrifying predatory glimmer in his mismatched eyes, his stare intense, burning. It was physically paralyzing, and Copia suddenly realized he could not move or look away, as utter terror set in.

“Is it impossible? You’re a smart man, Salvatore. But can you riddle this one out?” He took a few steps forward again, now standing mere feet from the young priest. “Tell me, Salvatore, how old do you think I am?” Copia swallowed. His mouth was dry, is throat tight, and no sound came when he tried to answer.

“Take a guess!” he asked, his voice icy, “Fifty, sixty?” Ferruccio laughed, a dark, grim sound. “I am four hundred and eighty one years old. I did meet Vlad Dracul, when he was a young man. We did not get along.” He shook his head, an air of superiority on his face. “He was far too unsophisticated; his methods, I found to be animalistic and base. This collection, however, I acquired over centuries.” He took Copia’s hand and chuckled as he watched the other man’s green eyes grow wide. “See? No pulse. I am dead, yet I am still walking, and will be eternally.”

He stepped even closer and unbuttoned the collar of Copia’s cassock, exposing his neck. Slowly, he dragged a finger along it. “You’re powerless, unable to move. Your blood is pumping fast, I can feel it. And I can smell your fear. A delightful scent for one of my kind.” He bared his teeth, a pair of sharp canines that Copia had never noticed before were like daggers at the ready. “I could kill you right now, you could not even scream.” Ferruccio backed off slowly, his eyes still on Copia. He thought for a moment, tilting his head as he did so, observing his prey. “I could kill you, but instead, I will give you a choice: join me. You were ready to leave everything behind to follow me, minutes ago. I will allow it, and give you the gift of eternal life.”

The vampire’s eyes softened ever so slightly, and Copia found that his breath and voice were back. He took in gulps of air. “What if I refuse? Do I die?” He was still transfixed by the man-- the creature facing him, menacing. 

“Surely you understand I cannot leave witnesses. But yes, you die either way. Only, if you join me, you can see the world. Visit places you’ve only seen on maps. Speak with people who may go on to be, perhaps, the next Vlad Dracul. You may even be able to dabble in time yourself; place your hand into the melting pot of history and shape its very being. Do whatever you please.” Ferruccio held his arms out, cocking an eyebrow at the other man; waiting. 

Copia let out a nervous laugh. “Yes, and never see the light of day again.”

Ferruccio laughed, a genuine real laugh: he hadn’t laughed like that in well over a century. “You won’t miss it, I assure you. You could be great, Salvatore. This mortal life is holding you back. Let go.”

Copia thought about his life. It had been spent in San Bonaventura since the death of his parents when he was very young, too young to remember. It was all he’d known, until he met Ferruccio. Their work and friendship had been the only thing that had meaning, lately, or perhaps even ever. Everything else had paled in comparison to the fascinating personality of this man in front of him. If he chose to die, he would go back to his maker. _ If there even is one_, he thought, sourly. But if he became a vampire…

Copia took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pulled his collar back, his humanity bared as he renounced his God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the ever fresh rubrikate for her amazing work editing this. I couldn't do it without you.


	3. Stolen Chance

_ Prague _

_ June, 1862 _

Ferruccio stood in front of his dresser, buttoning up his shirt. He was preparing to go out and hunt, as he did most nights. His clothes were carefully chosen to give passersby a precise impression: that of a wealthy but ageing gentleman, respectable and beyond reproach. None of the clothes were too recent, all of excellent quality but dating at least a few years. Out of fashion and clearly worn, but well cared for. Dressed thusly, he could stay unseen in the crowd.

He adjusted his collar before putting on his vest, and was busy with his necktie when Copia walked in, wearing only a nightgown, his eyes still small from slumber; his hand running in his hair as he yawned.

“Good evening, Copia. You’re awake just in time, I wanted to speak to you before I left.” Ferruccio had long since accepted that his companion would never be ready in time for the hunt, and that going alone was the only option. 

Copia sat sideways across his mentor’s fauteuil, rubbing his eyes. “Whatever for?” he slurred, “Can’t this wait until I’ve eaten?” His voice no longer had the respectful tones it did decades ago. Rather, it had a blend of boredom and impertinence that almost made Ferruccio regret taking him under his wing.

“It cannot. This is very important, it’s about-- will you sit down properly?” Ferruccio stopped what he was doing to glare at him, which did have the desired effect of Copia straightening his posture. That is, after rolling his eyes mismatched eyes. Ferruccio sighed and started over. “It’s about that girl, the one you have been… _ fraternizing _ with.”

Copia snapped alert, the sleepy, nonchalant demeanor gone. “What girl? There is no girl.” He was toying with the hem of his sleeve as he sat there under Ferruccio’s scrutiny, visibly nervous.

Ferruccio shook his head. “For a vampire, you make a very poor liar, Copia. Make an effort at least, I taught you better than that.” Copia looked down, avoiding the older vampire’s glacial stare. “You know very well what girl I’m talking about,” he continued. “The one in the blue dress I’ve seen you whispering sweet nothings to almost every night for the past two weeks.”

  
Copia’s reply was sharp, defensive: “What about her?” His eyes were still avoiding Ferruccio’s.

“What about her indeed. How long were you planning to take before you eat her?” He walked closer to the chair as Copia suddenly rose from it.

“I am _ not _ having this discussion with you. I need to get ready.” He went for the door when Ferruccio’s voice resonated, commanding.

“Stay here, young man! I am not done.”

Copia stopped and turned around, looking at the floor. “I won’t kill her. I like her. She’s interesting, and _ she _ doesn’t treat me like a child. I…” He stood tall, locked his eyes with Ferruccio’s, defiant. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He bowed, mocking, arrogant, before all but running to his own room, the faint _ click _ of the lock following the loud _ thud _ of the closing door.

Ferruccio sighed, put on his top hat, and left.

  


\----------------------

  


The middle of the evening was ideal for the hunt. Crowds were not as dense as they were around sundown, but walking the streets alone was not yet suspicious. Ferruccio could, of course, be entirely unseen by humans if he wished to, but he loved the thrill of being a predator in plain sight, of avoiding detection through skill and wit rather than superhuman powers. 

He walked slowly, cane in gloved hand, eyes discreetly scanning the people in the area: _ Too old. Too visible. Diseased. _ He liked an easy prey, but he did have a refined palate all the same.

Parks were a favorite hunting ground of his. Besides young lovers with shining eyes sitting just a little too close, and middle aged men smoking and discussing politics, parks attracted vulnerable people, lonely people, and were full of secluded places where one could feed without getting interrupted.

Ferruccio was following a man, mid-thirties, with a wobbly walk and a bottle of alcohol in his hand. He kept his distance, knowing that it could be closed in mere seconds once the path was clear. His eyes were focused on the man, while his ears were busy keeping track of what was happening in the periphery. 

As he passed behind a bench, he heard a familiar voice: “I’m afraid I cannot join your family for dinner tomorrow, dearest, I have a previous engagement. Perhaps next week…” He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the direction of the voices. Copia was sitting there, next to the girl, holding her hand in his.

Ferruccio had never interfered with his apprentice’s hunt before, but this was different. Everything he’d worked for over centuries was at stake. He had to stop this, no matter what, and so he walked up to them: “Pardon me, miss,” he said with a bow in his most charming voice, “I need to speak to my son for a minute. May I?” He smiled, warm and wide and innocent, and could feel Copia vibrating with anger when the girl acquiesced and he had no choice but to obey.

He took the young vampire aside and switched from Czech to Italian, keeping his tone as low and even as he could despite his desire to shout at him: “What do you think you’re doing? This foolish behavior is unlike you, Copia. I want you to tell that girl that you need to go now, and then never see her again. I don’t care what excuses you have to make. Do I make myself clear?”

Copia, too, tried to act casual and not let on what the conversation was about, but his eyes fixed on Ferruccio’s betrayed his feelings. “And what if I don’t?” 

Ferruccio shook his head. “Then, come sunrise, you’ll find a locked door on your return home.” 

Copia sighed and took on an apologetic expression. He walked back to the young woman: “Dearest, I have bad news…” Ferruccio walked away, satisfied, twirling his cane as he returned to his previous route.

Minutes later, he was pleased to see that his meal had passed out in the bushes, ready for him to enjoy.

  


\----------------------

  


The commotion on the ground floor of the house made Ferruccio look up from the book he was reading. It sounded like someone had broken in. Then he noticed the smell, stong, enticing: blood. Fresh, human blood. Alarmed, he ran down the stairs to investigate.

The door to the library was blown open. There was no light inside, but he did not need it to witness the scene that was taking place in front of his eyes: among fallen bookshelves and broken vases was Copia, crouched by the lifeless body of a scantily clad young woman: _ A prostitute_, he thought absently. There was blood on the carpet and blood on Copia’s chin, and his pupils were blown wide. The young vampire looked straight ahead, in a daze, not noticing Ferruccio’s presence. He was like an animal.

“Copia, how much did you drink?” There was reproach in his voice, but also concern. Copia did not respond. Ferruccio walked over, his footsteps pounding down onto the hardwood floors; he grabbed the younger vampire by the shoulders and forced eye contact. “You’re drunk. What did you do? How many did you drink? _ Answer me_,” he hissed.

“T-two,” Copia replied, “had t-two. Want more. Don’t want to think.” His words were sluggish and slurred. He tried to stand up but only fell to the ground, his legs collapsing out from under him.

“Why did you do that? You foolish child, why did you bring this here?” He kicked the dead girl’s leg with the tip of his shoe, disgusted. “What if you were seen, Copia, bringing her in? What if you’re seen getting rid of her body? What if someone finds out what we are?” Ferruccio was now pacing the room, his anger beyond anything he had felt in centuries. “You could get both of us killed by doing something so stupid. _ What were you thinking? _” He shouted the last question, seething; his long fangs beginning to protrude in his rage.

“Brigita.” He tried standing up again, successful this time, and stared down Ferruccio as much as he could in his present state. “Brigita,” he repeated. “You want me to stop seeing her. You’re jealous.” In his anger, he slowly regained control of his thoughts; although, not of their filter. “Well, I won’t. I love her. She makes me feel human again.”

“Feel human?” Ferruccio’s voice was dripping with disgust. “Why would you want to feel human? I offered you greatness, saved you from mortality, from this pitiful life you had. And you want to go back? To give up everything, become weak and frail and controlled by your _ emotions _?” He shook his head, walking away, back to his sharp pacing.

Copia laughed, bitterly. “I went from serving God to serving _ you _ , and what good did that do to me? You treat me like a child and expect me to do everything you say.” He lowered his voice, mocking. “ _ Copia, find this book for me. Copia, go out and buy me more paper, the good kind, not the one you like. Copia, be amazed at my incredible intellect. _ Well, I’m done.”

Ferruccio’s eyes grew wide in disbelief. “Salvatore, you don’t realize what you are saying. It’s the blood, it must be. You’ll sober up, and tomorrow at sundown we’ll leave this city that’s destroying you.” He made his voice sweeter, desperate to regain control of the situation; desperate to regain control of the one person he cared about. “We’ll go to Russia, I have not seen it in centuries. We--”

Copia cut him off, his voice trenchant. “Stop it. There is no more _ we _ here. It’s not the city that’s destroying me, it’s you and your _ ego _. You’ve been suffocating me for too long. I’m 106 years old, it’s time I start living for me. I’m staying here.”

The hand rose and went down with incredible speed, but despite his inebriated state, Copia caught it before it hit him. They both stared at one another for a long moment: he and Ferruccio standing, face to face, eyes furious and fangs bared. Copia let go of Ferruccio’s arm and they both locked eyes for but a moment, before Copia turned and clumsily ran out the front door into the night.

  
  


Ferruccio waited three days for him to come back. He set fire to the house, burning it to the ground before leaving Prague for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't easy being a teenage vampire when your dad refuses to see you grow up...


	4. Stolen Identity

_ Sweden _

_ September 10th, 1914 _

_ 8:35pm _

  


The world was changing fast, much faster than it used to, centuries ago. Everything was accelerating: communications, transportation, even life itself was reaching a pace that was uncomfortably hurried for Ferruccio’s taste. Staying in one place for more than a few months was more risk than he was ready to take, and renewing his identity with every move was becoming tiresome. He longed for the days where he could stay put for years and years, exploiting everything a city had to offer before moving on to the next.

The hunt itself, thankfully, had not changed much. People were the same they always had been: scared, stupid and easy to manipulate. Ferruccio could simply, as he was now, sit on a bench and wait for a suitable victim to come by. Sure enough, a young man, around 35 years old, soon sat next to him. He was wearing a black suit to the latest fashion, and leather shoes that had been freshly shined. He was tall, vigorous; not the kind of prey Ferruccio had the habit to go after.

Ferruccio was pretending to read the newspaper, looking at the crowd, when he noticed that the stranger’s gaze was on him, intense. He ignored it as long as he could, but several minutes of this game forced him to react if he wanted to find someone to feed on: “Can I help you, young man?”, he said, as politely as he could, despite his annoyance.

“Pardon me, sir, I apologize,” the young man said in a smooth, charming voice, “I did not mean to stare. You’re not from here, are you? German?” He grimaced apologetically and gestured at Ferruccio’s clothes: “Your suit, I’d recognize a German suit anywhere.” He paused, waiting for an answer that Ferruccio, uninterested in chasing someone he had been seen with, did not provide. “Well, am I right?” the young man asked. 

Ferruccio finally gave in, folding the newspaper on his lap and giving the stranger a forced smile. “Italian. I did buy the suit while I lived in Germany, but with the current events I decided to move to these parts.”

The man nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. Terrible thing, war. So distasteful. But very profitable, or so I hear. I’m a businessman myself, self made. Took an opportunity and turned it to gold. Are you interested in business, sir?”

Ferruccio was growing irritated, but to avoid creating a commotion, he humored him: “I used to do business, long ago.” His voice sounded far away, for just a moment, even to himself. “I made my fortune and then I went to travel the world.” And well, that wasn’t quite a lie, was it, just an oversimplification.

“Is that so,” replied the man, thoughtful. “Say, you seem like an interesting fellow, can I interest you in joining me for a drink? As I said, I’m a businessman, and I could use the advice of someone with worldly experience like yours. You would, of course, be fairly compensated for your time.” He flashed a bright, overly familiar smile, radiating false friendliness; but his eyes were furtively darting toward Ferruccio’s emerald ring.

_ A con man_, he thought. _ If I can get him somewhere private, he would be suitable… _ Ferruccio agreed to the drink and followed the stranger to a nearby tavern.

After a brief word with the barman, they were escorted to a private room in the back, where it became clear, in not so many words, that the young man in the fancy suit owned the establishment. “What would you like, my friend? Wine, vodka? Beer? Women?” The young man laughed and, after Ferruccio told him he had no preference in the matter, gave instructions to the employee waiting on them. “Alvar, bring us some wine. Something nice from the cellar.” He then turned to Ferruccio once more: “I’m afraid we don’t serve your drink of choice here, sir…?”

Ferruccio raised a dark eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

The man simply kept smiling as a bottle of expensive red wine was brought and poured into two glasses. He dismissed the waiter and locked the door behind him, preventing anyone else from disrupting their conversation. Preventing, at the same time, anyone from quickly exiting the room. Ferruccio was growing increasingly uneasy, like he had not been since his youth days, centuries ago. There was no reason for his prey to want to be in a locked room with him, a stranger, and while he did not fear for his life, as he was without a doubt more powerful than the tall man sitting across the table, he was not so sure to have the upper hand anymore.

He did not like that feeling at all.

The man took a long sip of his wine before locking eyes with Ferruccio. “I know who you are,” he said bluntly. His voice was different from before, cold and efficient and deeper somehow. His eyes, too, had a depth that was not there minutes ago; a look of knowledge and experience that Ferruccio had not anticipated. “I know _ what _ you are,” the young man in the lovely suit continued.

The vampire stayed quiet, cautious, uncertain. He shrugged, smirking, trying to remain indifferent, “And what would that be,_ sir?_” he replied, his voice dry, icy.

The other man leaned in, predatory. “I’ve met one of your kind before. It’s the eyes,” he said, pointing at his own, blue and shining, “it’s what gives you away. Yes, I met her in London, years ago. Over fifty years ago, if my memory is correct.” His gaze was steady, powerful; firm. 

Ferruccio looked away and down at the red liquid, untouched in his crystal glass. “You look quite young for such an old man. But I still do not understand what you mean. My eye was damaged in an accident, that is all.”

“Believe me, my friend, I do know the weight of time just as you do,” he replied, but his voice was different now, its tone and texture completely new. Ferruccio looked up to see that the handsome young man had been replaced by someone much, much older, face wise and wrinkled, hair white and thin; though, the strength and vitality was just as present in his energy as it had been before. He continued: “We have much to talk about, you and I. I was serious about the business offer, even though I mislead you about its nature.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

Ferruccio remained silent, his instinct still telling him not to trust the man. But as he was effectively trapped in a room with a single exit, kept under lock and key, and no doubt guarded on the other side, he gave him a chance and nodded.

The old man continued: “I am the head of a Church, of sorts. Our main location is in this area, and we have a few smaller congregations here and there. We also own some establishments like this one.” His voice was charming; too charming.

“I do not like churches,” Ferruccio replied, his tone dripping with distaste.

“Oh, not that kind,” the other man replied with a wide smile. “We do not worship gods or men, we simply serve the Old One.” As he reverently spoke those last words, he pointed to the ground.  
  
Ferruccio laughed in disbelief. “A satanic church? What does that have to do with me?”

“Times are difficult for all of us, my friend. Especially for your kind, I can imagine. People are cautious; too cautious. I assume your hunt is not as successful as it once was, yes? You could use a safe haven, I’m sure. I can provide that.”

Ferruccio did not contradict him about his success rate as a hunter. Simply, he asked: “And in exchange?”

The old man smiled. “I am getting there, yes. You’re powerful and charismatic, as are all vampires. You have a way to subjugate mortals that even I do not have.” He stood up and began to walk slowly across the room, hands behind his back. “Well, I want to expand our operations, to convert more people to our cause. But for that, I need to travel, and to travel means leaving the Church in the hands of mere humans. To put it simply, I would like to make you a high member of Clergy, to assist me in the expansion of the Church and to supervise things when I am gone.”

Ferruccio was still suspicious. “Why me?”

The old man kept going, ignoring his question: “As I said earlier, you will be fairly compensated. In blood, might I add.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two. Ferruccio was weighing his options. On one hand, he refused to trust anyone, not since Salvatore’s departure, and especially not humans. But was he really human? The man in front of him now had returned to his previous appearance, his veil of youth. Humans could not do such things, although what could, Ferruccio could not tell. He had heard, long ago, that vampires were creations of Satan, the infernal king’s own take on the perfect creature. _ Was this meant to be? _

And, if Ferruccio was honest, he was weary of this lonely life of travel.

He looked at the man and spoke cautiously: “What _ exactly _ would be expected of me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon enough, Ferruccio's gonna be complaining about millenials and how we keep wanting to take "selfies" while he bites them...
> 
> My eternal gratitude, as usual, to rubrikate, best editor I could ask for.


	5. Stolen Strangers

_ Sweden _

_ October 3rd, 1972 _

_ 9:18pm _

A young hitchhiker was standing alone by the side of the road, signaling at passing vehicles. The night was quiet and few cars passed by; none of the ones who did even stopped to ask where she was going. The sky was dark and the road was dimly lit, and with her dark coat and hair, her shape blended with the background of the forest she stood against. 

She had been standing there for a long time, long enough to be shivering from the cold and for the platform shoes she was wearing to make her feet sore. Another car passed, speeding by, ignoring her._ Damn selfish people_, she thought, _ can’t even stop for a girl in need. _ She sighed, and began to walk in the direction of the city. She walked for several minutes, her pace slowed by her uncomfortable shoes, holding her wool coat tight against her chest in the hopes of getting some more warmth. When she heard the motor of another car come up behind her, she did not stop or turn around, her pride still wounded at the perceived rejection from the previous drivers. But moments later, a dark green Mercedes came to a halt a few meters in front of her, its headlights shining their dim, yellow light ahead. It was a beautiful car, recent, expensive; not the kind you’d expect to see on a quiet country road. Not the kind of car you’d expect to stop.

One of the back doors of the car opened and the woman hurried to it, before the driver changed their mind. She bent down a little to look inside the car. “Thanks for stopping, I’ve been walking for _ hours _ and I’m freezing!” The driver did not respond or even look at her, but on the backseat sat an older gentleman, bald with only an old fashioned mustache, wearing an expensive looking coat and black leather gloves. He seemed respectable, but deep down something about him felt off, sinister. 

“Do come in, young lady,” he said as she stood outside, unsure if getting in was safe. She looked around: no other cars in view. The trees were rustling with gusts of wind; she could hear, deep in the woods, sounds that she could not identify. She suddenly felt very aware of her isolation and, weighing her options, entered the vehicle. The man shut the door behind her. “We are headed to Stockholm, is that satisfactory?” His Swedish was somewhat stiff and his accent, definitely foreign. There were books on the seat next to him, which from the titles were on philosophy and religion. The hitchhiker regretted her hasty judgement; he was an odd but harmless man. She nodded and he tapped the driver’s seat with the pommel of his cane, twice, before the car went back on the road.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, the driver looking straight ahead, the man, out of the window, and the woman looking at the man. She finally broke the silence: “I’m glad you stopped; no one did before you. I think I wasn’t visible enough, but I didn’t want to wear white to go out and party, you know. So, thanks again. I really thought I wouldn’t make it before morning.”

He turned his gaze from the window and smiled at her. “Of course. I saw you and told my driver, this young creature must be cold, stop the car.” His voice was low and soft, his gaze steady, deep. She looked into his eyes and noticed that their color was not matched, one being milky white, the other a dark blue. She couldn’t look away, mesmerized, and smiled back, suddenly feeling very tired. He continued. “You still look very cold, my child. Would you like to come closer and warm up?” As he spoke, he pushed the books onto the floor with not a care in the world, and patted the seat gently with a gloved hand. She kept smiling, nodded, and slid on the seat until their thighs touched. Her instincts told her to get away, to jump out of the car and run, but a pleasant grogginess soon took over her body and mind.

The man’s smile faded, his gaze turned cold and hard. His grip on the woman’s arm was strong, much stronger than one would expect from someone that age, but by then her own grip on consciousness was too weak to react. He brought his left hand to her face, brushed the long, dark hair out of the way and removed her scarf. She felt his cold breath on her skin, then a sharp pain in her neck, before losing consciousness.

Soon, the car turned around, leaving her body behind on the dark stretch of road where she would have been safe, had she not stepped into the warm vehicle.

  


\----------------------

  


_ Emeritus Church _

_ 1:43 am _

Papa Emeritus II sat at his desk, going over paperwork. He liked this part of the job more than he would admit to: conquering piles of documents, approving or rejecting requests, replying to official letters was oddly satisfying. He had, over the decades, come up with a very efficient system to deal with the work, so efficient in fact that he could do in one night what was expected of him in a week, and had the rest of his time free for his personal studies.

He was reading two low priority letters at once -- a skill he had developed shortly after the invention of the printing press -- when there was a knock on the door, brief but vigorous. The Ghoul on the other side did not wait for a response to enter, and closed the door behind himself. “Letter for you, boss,” he said, walking to the desk and holding an unmarked envelope with a wax seal out for Papa to take. “The guy’s down the hall waiting for you, says he’s an old friend. Should I let him in?” He stood by the desk, tall, arms behind his back, waiting for instructions as Papa opened the envelope and read its contents:

_ Ferruccio, _

_ I see that you are going by another name these days, but I would recognize you anywhere. You haven’t changed a bit -- but the opposite would have been surprising, wouldn’t it? I’m terribly sorry about the way we parted. I’m hoping to make amends. Are you willing to give your old friend a chance? _

_ Salvatore Copia _

Papa stared at the letter, read it once, twice more. It was unexpected. While he'd always felt like Salvatore was still out there somewhere, had always known deep inside that he was doing fine despite being left to his own devices, he never thought he'd find his way to the Emeritus Church. The corner of his mouth lifted in an almost imperceptible smile. _ An interesting development indeed, _ he thought. "Yes, let him in, Omega." The Ghoul nodded and went for the door as Papa added, "Stay right outside, you may need to escort him out."

Presently, Copia walked in, a wide smile on his face, arms extended, going for an embrace: "Ferruccio! Dear friend, how are you?" Papa had seen that behavior in humans recently; with Copia, it looked rehearsed. Papa's eyes turned stern, disapproving, which made the younger vampire stop and wait in silence. 

Papa gave him a good look. His hair was parted to the side and neatly combed, his mustache well defined; he was wearing some tight, black trousers and a turtleneck, and a dark leather jacket. He was thinner than Papa remembered him: _ did he feed enough? _Papa thought. "You look terrible. Why are you wearing these ridiculous clothes?"

Copia chuckled awkwardly, obviously trying to ease his nerves. "I'm glad to see you too. How long has it been? And these clothes are fashionable, not ridiculous." He adjusted the collar of his jacket as he spoke, to which Papa responded by shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"How did you find me, Copia? How did you get here? Did anybody see you? You could have been followed!” Papa stood up and began to pace behind his desk. “Do you not remember what caused us to part ways?”

Copia grimaced. “I was young, I’ll admit it. But I’ve grown, Ferruccio, I swear! You were right, I needed to be more cautious. The first few years after we…They were difficult.” He sat on the corner of the desk, shaking his head; dark hair falling loosely around his eyes. “But that’s the past. We have all of eternity before us, my friend. Why not join forces again?” He held out a hand to Papa. “Let’s leave this gloomy place, go to America, that’s where the future is. What do you say?”

“I’m not leaving,” Papa said darkly. “Times have changed, Copia. The Church is safe. I’ve been here for 58 years, and in that time I have made tremendous progress in my work. You have to see the library, Salvatore, its collection is unequaled.” His tone had shifted from mockery to that of a charming salesman describing his merchandise. “I have a private laboratory, a car to my disposal, security, and hundreds of people ready to do everything I ask them to.” He grinned. “I don’t even have to hunt, should I choose not to. And all that is required of me is a little paperwork and to keep the gullible flock happy.”

Copia was silent, grinding his teeth tightly. The softest squeak coming from his mouth was all the indicator Papa had before Copia burst out in anger. “You spent literal _ decades _ telling me to stay away from humans, to keep my distance for safety, and then you have the nerve to do this?” He glared at the older vampire in front of him, waving a vague, yet angry hand. “Very well, stay here.” He paused and shook his head. “I should take my leave. Coming here was a bad idea. Goodbye, Ferruccio.” He bowed stiffly and turned around, wounded by the realization that he was unwelcome in his mentor’s perfect little false life. 

But as he was passing the door of the office, Papa leaned over his desk, fist against the wood grain as he yelled: “Salvatore, wait!” The young vampire stopped but did not turn around. Papa walked around his desk and toward the other vampire and put a hand on his shoulder. Copia tried to pull away, but much to no avail, Papa’s grip was firm and commanding. “Why don’t you stay? You were a priest once, were you not? I’m sure you would get back into the habit without a hitch. I could make you a Cardinal, you would be free to do as you pleased…” There was a plea in his voice, almost unnoticeable; but Copia knew him too well to be fooled by the false detachment. He also knew that Ferruccio was too proud to ever admit being wrong; even less so, to beg. Copia shook his head once more, pushed the hand away and stepped into the hallway. His footsteps echoed in the long corridor, until he heard Ferruccio’s voice once more.

“You could be in charge of the map archives?” It was a weak plea; a peace offering.

Copia stopped dead in his tracks. “Map… archives?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone for reading, and to rubrikate for once again saving my writing from myself.


	6. Stolen Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is actually the B Sides of another (better) fic, The Lovely Sundering by rubrikate. If you're not reading it already, you definitely should, as they will be unfolding in parallel from this point forward.

_ Sweden _

_ October 17th, 2016 _

_ 7:01 pm _

Papa left the chapel after conducting confessions, Omega in tow. Having lived under strict Catholic dogma in the 14th century, he found the practice of satanic confession amusing. No one in the congregation was asking for forgiveness or penance; rather, they were after advice or encouragement. For Papa, it was an excellent opportunity to hone his mind control skills.

Walking through the main hall, where Brothers and Sisters of Sin were standing in groups, chatting, Papa saw a familiar figure rushing in from outside. "Cardinal," he called, commanding, "I need to speak with you." Copia stopped and turned around, flashing a practiced but awkward smile, bowing his head slightly as he waited for Papa to catch up to him. "Cardinal," he repeated, more quietly this time, "would you accompany me to my quarters?" Although it was framed as such, Copia knew very well that this was not a question. He nodded and they started on the long walk down to the crypt levels.

They walked in silence, side by side, Omega still following from a distance like a protective shadow. They were stopped a few times by members of the Clergy who wished an audience with Papa. Though, he politely declined each time, instead referring them to the Abbess for the 6-page _Formal Request of Audience with His Unholiness Papa Emeritus II _form. It was a trick that had been keeping his schedule blissfully free from useless and tiresome meetings for decades. They finally reached the privacy of Papa’s private quarters, adjacent to Copia’s.

The door closed, Omega guarding the other side, both language and tone changed between the two vampires. They fell back into an 18th century Italian dialect, as Copia hissed, “What is it? Can’t it wait? I’m busy, I have things to attend to before I go out for the night and-”

“Excellent,” Papa interjected, cutting him off. “That’s precisely what I needed you for.” He went behind his desk and removed the painting hanging from the wall - an uncatalogued Bosch he had acquired in 1509 - to reveal a safe, which he opened and retrieved an envelope from. He slid it on the desk toward Copia: “I need you to go to Gerlak’s this evening to retrieve some items. They are already paid for, just give him this.”

Copia stared at Papa, then at the envelope, a strange look on his face. Locking eyes with his mentor once more, he pushed the envelope away. "No. Why can't you go yourself? Or send one of your _ lackeys _ to get it?”, he sighed.

Papa looked at him, puzzled. “Lackeys?” 

Copia shrugged. “You know, Ghouls, whatever.” He looked away, waving a hand dismissively. 

The older vampire tilted his head. “No, Salvatore, _ do tell me,_ what exactly do you mean by that?”

The even tone of his voice made Copia more nervous, like a child under the scrutiny of a stern teacher. “I mean that it’s not my job, Ferruccio. You have Ghouls for that. There’s important things I need to be doing right now. There’s…” 

Papa pushed the envelope toward Copia once more. “If that is the case, I suggest you take this and leave immediately. It will only take a few minutes, and you are going into town either way.” He was calm, but it was clear that there was no arguing with him tonight; without a choice, Copia grabbed the missive with too much strength, crumpling it, and stormed out without another word.

Papa leaned against the desk and sighed. “Where did this come from all of a sudden,” he said as Omega walked in and Copia stormed off down the hall, “he hasn’t done anything like that in years.” He turned to the Ghoul. "Do you have any idea what he was talking about? He works with old maps, whatever could be so pressing?” 

Omega shrugged, stoic as ever. “Would you like me to go find out, your Unholiness?”

Papa shook his head. “No, no, I’ll go myself. I need to know. I have a bad feeling,” he said tiredly as he went for the door, before stopping, his hand on the knob. “Prepare the documents for the Göteborg land purchase, I’ll look at them later.” Omega bowed as Papa exited.

There was a staircase, unknown to all but Ghouls and high Clergy, that went directly from the crypt levels to the higher ones, where their offices were located. It was a much faster route, a very useful shortcut. But Papa decided against using it this time, as he wanted to make a stop before knocking on Copia’s door: the library. A book was, after all, as good as any excuse to pass by.

When he did, half an hour later, get to Copia’s office, there was no answer. No sound could be heard, either; no one inside. Using his master key, Papa opened the door and looked around. It had been a few months since he’d been inside, and he could see that major changes had happened. There were no longer maps scattered on every surface. Instead, they were rolled or piled up neatly. There was significantly less of them, too. And there was strange equipment, on a desk, with buttons and lights and wires. Papa disliked and distrusted all modern technology, and he knew Copia was the same. _ What on Earth was this doing there? And where was Copia? _

Thoughtful, he walked to the window that looked out on the front yard and pulled the curtain aside, the sun low enough in the sky by this hour not to cause discomfort. He looked around at the property, at the dense forest surrounding it, and then below, where he noticed Copia’s personal vehicle pulling up the curb. _ So he is leaving already,_ he thought, perplexed. _ Whatever is so important must be in the city. _ Just then, Copia walked up to the Audi, a girl by his side. He saw Copia watching her as she slid on the backseat; saw the look in his eyes, a look he had seen before. One hundred and fifty-four years ago, to be exact.

  
A deep, long forgotten anger rose once more in Papa’s chest, that culminated in a low growl in his throat, like that of a wild beast protecting its territory. His eyes widened and his hand clasped the book he was holding tightly. _ I will not allow this, not again,_ he thought. He watched the car drive off the property, watching the way it disappeared down the gravel driveway and disappearing through the trees. When he left the room, the book was left behind. It had fallen on the floor, its spine broken by the sheer force of a crushing, inhuman hand.


	7. Stolen Information

_ Sweden _

_ October 19th, 2016 _

_ 4:37 PM _

“I have been looking for this document for two nights. I swear I saw it just a decade ago. How could it disappear? It does not make sense.” Papa would have been pulling out his hair, had he any at all; instead, he was pacing the room, talking at Copia, who in turn did not pay much attention. 

“Uh, what document?”, Copia said quickly without even looking up from his book. “Are you sure you didn’t throw it out and forget about it? A decade is not insignificant.”

Papa rolled his eyes. “A decade is nothing.” He snapped his fingers. “The blink of an eye. I remember where I last put this paper, I would remember taking it out. No, someone must have taken it.” He was now furiously going through the contents of a filing cabinet, looking for the single piece of paper that was eluding him. 

Copia closed his book and looked at his mentor. “Maybe you should get one of those… what are they called… data… bases? That’s what my new assistant is doing with my collection.” He furrowed his brow, trying to explain things that obviously still confused him. “They put the documents in this electric box, and it goes in the clouds. Then, when you need it, you ask the box to give it back, and it does.”

Papa looked up, his fingers stopping their speedy motion, holding papers in place in the filing drawer. “An _ electric box_? Like the ones that play music? How does it get papers into the clouds? Who sends them back? That seems overly complicated, Copia. I don’t know if I trust all those bizarre modern machines and their strange, hidden workings.”

“I don’t know how it works, Ferruccio,” Copia replied, sitting on the edge of the desk, “but it does. Annika showed me. She pushes little squares with letters on them, and then it appears on what she calls, I believe, a _ screen. _ It’s all most fascinating.” His face had brightened up, visibly excited about this new development in his life’s work.

But Papa latched onto something else from that word outpour. “Annika? Is that the name of your new _ lady friend, _ Salvatore? The one you took with you to town two nights ago? The one who makes you _ so very busy_?" His tone was mocking, but through his calm demeanor, his anger still transpired. A slow, sly smile appeared on his face; his eyes narrowing.

Copia was, in turn, very defensive. "Annika is my new assistant. Nothing more. She's useful. She knows things." He picked at an errant strand of thread on his sleeve.

Papa scoffed. "Things about electric boxes and clouds? Is that why she's here? To make you a man of the modern age? I did not know you cared about such things, Salvatore, I thought you still favored parchment and quill." 

Copia shook his head. "It's not like that. She knows about map archiving and conservation. She is helping me reorganize my collection, that is all." Papa hummed quietly.

"And once this is done?"

"...She will be gone." Copia replied in a whisper, his voice so quiet that a human might not have heard it. 

Papa nodded distractedly, and they stood in silence, the tense, heavy atmosphere only broken by the sound of papers being flipped through. Copia took it as his cue to go, leaving Papa to his task.

Having gone through the same filing cabinet three times, and with no one to witness him doing so, Papa decided to finally give in and look through the second, smaller one, in which he was certain the offending document was not. _ This, _ he thought, _ is just to ease my mind. I have enough to worry about with Salvatore and his lack of a proper survival instinct and poor decision making, I will not be bested by paperwork. No, I’m certain this is not here, and- _

Perhaps his memory was not as perfect as he claimed.

Shutting the filing drawer with too much force, as if it were responsible for its contents, and thus at fault for this blow to the vampire’s ego. “At least no one will know,” he sighed, turning around to consult the piece of paper at his desk. It was only then that he took notice of a large brown rat standing in the corner, staring at him. He stared back and could only watch as the creature scuttled out of the room.

Never before had Papa wished for control over another vampire’s familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the very short chapter, I'm trying to keep things smooth and concise. Thank you for reading, and welcome to all of you who were sent here by rubrikate! <3


	8. Stolen Laughter

_ Sweden _

_ October 20th, 2016 _

_ 10:45 pm _

Papa could have had his car brought to the curb if he wished to. It would, in fact, be the usual course of action for someone of his rank in the Church. But he enjoyed the opportunity to wander the grounds under the cover of night, to disappear in the shadows, turning into one himself. Neither cold air nor rain or snow would bother him; if he wore a long black coat, scarf and gloves, it was more as a disguise than a necessity. He walked off the path, away from the lights, not needing them to see and wishing not to be seen.

Omega was already waiting inside of the garage, standing with his legs apart and his arms behind his back beside a dark green Rolls-Royce Phantom. He bowed as Papa approached and inspected the car to see that it was clean to his liking. But instead of opening the door for the clergyman as he would normally do, he spoke: “Your Unholiness, Aether here would like to have a quick word with you before we leave.” He gestured toward a young Ghoul, tall and strong yet not quite out of the clumsiness of adolescence who stood awkwardly behind Omega.

Papa looked at the Ghoul. “I know you, you’re Copia’s driver, are you not? Speak.” He was not in a patient mood, and had no interest in whatever this Ghoul’s business was, but if Omega had deemed this important, it must have been. Aether approached carefully, intimidated by the vampire’s presence, his fingers tapping nervously on his thighs. Papa tried a smile to accelerate the process. “Well?”

Aether cleared his throat and finally spoke. “Your Unholiness, you probably won’t remember, but years ago you asked me to report anything out of the ordinary that happened while I worked for the Cardinal. Well, last night…”

Papa took a sudden step closer, so quickly that the human eye would not have seen the movement. Ghouls could see it perfectly; still, to the younger one, the sudden, unnatural motion combined with the intense stare he was under, was rather unnerving. Omega put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to proceed. “Tell his Unholiness what happened.”

Aether nodded and looked down at his shoes, noticing in passing that they needed to be polished, and began to recount the events of the previous night. “I drove the Cardinal into town yesterday. He asked me to go to an apartment complex. I think the girl who lives there is his assistant, though I didn’t ask any questions. He doesn’t like that.” Papa squinted tightly, his eyes becoming tight slits as he listened. 

Omega gave Aether another pat on the shoulder to keep him talking. “The Cardinal asked me to follow him inside, there was this large box I had to carry up the stairs for him: six stories. Then I was to wait in the car, he told me, half an hour, then he’d be back. So that’s what I did.” Aether shrugged, shaking his head. “Well, after maybe an hour, he was still there. So I got out of the car, and by the building, trying to decide if I should go in. And I know it’s not my place to be nosy or to worry, but it never takes him that long, and there was these flowers…”

“Flowers?” Papa snapped, before stopping himself. Omega gave him a disapproving look and mouthed, _ Let the kid finish._ Papa smiled again, plastic, and gestured for him to continue with his story.

“He brought her flowers, your Unholiness. A huge bouquet. And she was making eyes at him, flirting even, when I brought that box. She was holding his gaze. I didn’t know humans could do that. So I figured, I’ll go knock, make an excuse that we’re late, or that I got a call, and see if things are alright. When I got next to the building, I noticed the window was wide open, and I could hear them, so I listened in. They were talking about their childhood and whatnot, and their feelings, and she kept giggling. So, as you can see, that was unusual.”

“And then what happened?” Omega’s deep voice was reassuring, encouraging -- everything that Papa’s current body language was not as he leaned heavily on his cane, his knuckles white with their tight grip on the handle.

“I thought about going inside, but then I realized, what if it’s a new technique he’s trying? I wouldn’t want to disturb the Cardinal, he wouldn’t like that. I might get in trouble. He didn’t sound threatened or anything, just rather… pleased. So I kept watch. He came down soon enough after that, got into the car without a word. Then I drove him to one of his usual spots, and then back here. And it might be nothing, but I figured you might want to know what happened, your Unholiness.”

Omega nodded. “Thank you, Aether, you did the right thing. You may go now.”

The young Ghoul bowed to Papa, then to Omega, and all but ran outside, as if he expected a storm to hit.

He was not wrong. The minute he was out of sight, Papa’s fist flew to the left, a loud _ crash _ resonating in the concrete building as it landed on the door of the Rolls-Royce. He and Omega stared at the door in silence; the first fuming, the second, trying to contain his laughter. Thankfully, they were alone in the garage at this hour.

Omega finally let out an amused sigh. “The Volvo will be ready in a few minutes, your Unholiness.”

“But I hate the Volvo,” Papa groaned. “Is there nothing else?”

“I’m afraid, your Unholiness,” Omega replied in a dry, sarcastic voice, “that _ someone _ dented the door to your Phantom so much that it won’t close properly. It will need major body work before it gets back on the road. Now, our options are taking the Volvo, which is in perfect condition, with absolutely no dents or anything of the sort, or staying in for _ dinner._” Omega’s voice brokered no argument.

Papa looked once more at the wrecked Rolls-Royce. He’d let his anger get the best of him, his feelings control him; Omega, meanwhile, exhibited the patience of a saint, for all he was a demon. Papa sighed, resigned. “The Volvo then.”

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


Sitting in the backseat of the black Volvo S80, Papa's gaze was split between the dark pine forest they were passing through and the driver's seat, where Omega was visibly amused by the situation. This only increased Papa's irritation, but he said nothing; the Ghoul had nothing to do with it, after all. No, it was between himself and Copia that explanations were needed.

He remembered all too well what happened in Prague, years ago: flowers and smiles and giggles, and then the ruin of their partnership. It had not been easy to convince Salvatore to join the Church, even with the lure of his passion for maps, but Papa had insisted and persisted. He had been worried and wanted to keep an eye on his protégé; wanted to keep him safe from the outside world, and from himself. And now, this _ Annika _ was ruining everything again.

Papa put his right hand down on the seat, the leather of his Italian glove not gliding quite smoothly against that of the Volvo. _ Some things the English just do better than the Swedes, _ he thought, annoyed at himself; at Copia; at girls who lure men away from reason.

He had warned Salvatore countless times, over decades. _ Humans are prey, and we do not get close to prey. The closer you get to them, the closer they get to you, and the more vulnerable you are. Strike early and fast, do not let them time to think or speak. If they join forces against us, we are no better than dead. _ It was a lesson that he learned very quickly, when he was a young vampire, although it was true that he disliked humans when he was merely one himself. 

  
But Copia had always craved human contact, had wanted to be normal, to belong. Papa's company had satisfied him at first. He had found the conversation interesting, the travels exciting, the hunt exhilarating. _Then came a girl_, he thought, _and she took him from me._ _And now, once again…_ He sighed. He would not let that happen, not as long as he was still walking this Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long, I'm hoping to bring you the next in a more timely manner. Thanks to everyone who keeps reading this little project of rubrikate and I (mostly her), it means a lot and I hope you enjoy!


	9. Stolen Privacy

_ Sweden _

_ October 21st, 2016 _

_ 6:02 pm _

A shadow stood in an alleyway, perfectly still. The streets were still busy at this time of day, despite the darkness already taking hold of the city. Heavy clouds covered the sky, hiding the moon; if a few street lights had stopped working near an inconspicuous apartment building, no one took notice in their hurried walk to get home.

The shadow's eyes were fixed on the front door of the building, waiting. It did not have to wait very long: a few minutes later, two young women left the building, talking and laughing. The shorter one was holding onto the other’s arm and they walked slowly toward the street to hail a taxi. Soon, they vanished from sight; the shadow, in turn, began to move.

It now stood below the windows at the back of the building, making sure that no one was around; not that humans could have stopped it in its task. Surrounding itself with a column of thick fog, lifting from the ground, the shadow took hold of one of the bricks making up the wall. The climb was quick, effortless even, as if the shadow was weightless; or perhaps it was inhuman strength and agility that gave this impression. It took less than a minute for it to reach the sixth floor window, an inexpensive thing that was very easy for an experienced thief to break open and go through. 

The apartment was nearly silent and dark, only the quiet hum and dim lights of various electronics cutting through the stillness. The shadow immediately began to look at the residents’ belongings, noting the titles of books and movies, reading through diaries and papers, observing photo albums and pictures on the walls. It sifted through drawers, chuckling when it found some intimate items; going so far as to check wardrobes and boxes and bags. 

Satisfied with its findings, the shadow stood in the middle of the hallway. A thick, black fog started emanating from the ground beneath its feet, creeping through the whole apartment like dark, ethereal limbs reaching out. The shadow had explored the home without disturbing anything; its minion was now turning it to chaos, knocking down and breaking things indiscriminately. It purred and hissed as it did so: the creature had not been allowed to enjoy itself like this in a long time. It only took a few minutes before the whole place was a wreck, and the fog was called back by its master.

The shadow stepped over torn pages and broken glass as it went for the front door and exited the apartment. Closing it, it took a step back, and hit it with its full strength. It smiled and whistled an old tune as it slowly walked down the six flights of stairs and out the door, making a straight line to a pristine, red 1957 Alfa Romeo Giulietta that was parked a few blocks away, and drove away into the night.


	10. Stolen Knowledge

_ Sweden _

_ October 21st, 2016 _

_ 1:12 AM _

Papa was sitting in an armchair by the fire, reading. The leather bound tome he hand in hand was very old, and so he was careful in holding it and turning its pages. His collection of books and art was one of the few things that still made him feel something: satisfaction from owning such rare items, but also a combination of superiority and nostalgia at their condition. They were changing, aging, decaying, but he was not. His existence was at a still, as if crystallized in time. Days and months and years were almost identical, yet his memory would not allow any of them to be forgotten. _ I suppose, _ he thought, _ that it is the curse of the immortal to be affected, yet not, by the passage of time. _

The first few centuries of his second life, as he liked to think of it, had been ever changing and full of excitement and discovery. The current world was changing too fast, too drastically, in directions that he neither liked nor understood. Salvatore's presence had, at first, been soothing. The opportunity of talking about the past with someone who understood took some of the weight of passing years off his chest. Now, it brought him only worry.

He stared over the yellowed pages at the fire, letting his mind wander with the crackling of the burning wood. In a rare moment, Papa thought about his first life, the one he hated, where he was no one despite his desire to be _ someone _ : powerful and respected. He imagined where his life would have gone, had he not traveled the road he did. _ Dead from the plague, I suppose, _he snickered. He was where he had always dreamed to be; why was he so suddenly dissatisfied?

The answer burst into Papa's office, as if summoned by his thoughts. Copia was disheveled and his pupils were blown, his cassock collar not as neatly arranged as usual. "You look displeased, Copia, what's the matter?" Papa asked, unfazed. "Did you spill ink on one of your maps again?"

Copia walked up to the older vampire, sitting in his green armchair with an air of superiority; but he had known Papa for too long to be intimidated by this. "Why did you send him to trash Annika's apartment?" he snarled. 

Papa blinked once, twice, and raised an eyebrow. "Who? Whatever are you talking about?" 

Copia grabbed him by the throat, threatening, and pulled him up to his feet. "Don't play the fool, old man, I know you sent the Ghoul to wreck the place. Why? I demand to know."

Papa raised his hands in an empty peace gesture and let out a dark chuckle. "I did not send him to _ wreck the place _ , as you so _ nicely _ put it. I sent him to gather information. Now put me down at once."

Copia's grip was steadfast. "Don't take me for an imbecile, there was not a drawer left unturned. Your little lapdog, the Ghoul never disobeys, you must have asked him to do so. Why?" His voice was a low growl, rage and resentment giving a sharp edge to the usually softer, melodic tone of his voice. His hand slowly closed further on the other vampire’s throat.

“Think of it as a little performance to make our presence known. But aren’t you curious about what he found in there?” Papa felt Copia’s resolve falter, just a little, and pressed on. “Then put me down so we can talk like civilized creatures. Besides,” he added, grabbing Copia’s wrist with his own powerful hand, “we both know this is merely an annoyance.” Copia reluctantly let go and began to pace the room while Papa sat back in his chair. “Much better, isn’t it? Now, where do I begin…"

Copia glared at him, visibly impatient, his irritation only growing when Papa laughed at him, a condescending sound he'd always hated to hear directed at him. He'd felt like he had the upper hand when he first entered the office; now he realized he might have stepped right into one of his mentor's traps. But he refused to back down, and gestured for him to proceed.

Papa leaned back and closed his eyes. “The Ghoul, as you call him, looked through her things, yes, as I requested. Very instructive, looking at everything someone owns. She’s no angel, that girl, far from reproachless. Dropped out of university a semester before completing her degree; had five different jobs between that and the one you recruited her from. Seems to have little loyalty, except for her roommate. Other friendships rarely last for more than a few months."

"How could he know such things? Not unless he-"

"Read her diaries, yes." Papa cut him off. "I needed to know, Salvatore, for your sake and mine. How many times have I warned you about women and their vile ways, who ensnare you and then cry wolf when they realize what you are."

Copia stopped dead in his tracks and pointed an accusing finger at the vampire in the chair. "You _ are _ a wolf, Ferruccio. But it's not like that with Annika, she likes talking to me, she's interested in my work!" His anger was rising fast, more on the girl’s behalf than his own; although, decades of unresolved conflict were resurfacing as well. “We have a real connection, something I’ve never felt before. I know she cares. And you tell me that it will destroy me, destroy us both? Is old age making you paranoid, Ferruccio?”

The expression on Papa’s face changed, hardened: he was now striking to hurt. “So you think she likes you for _ you_, then. Perhaps you should have waited for me to be done before gloating. From her own account, your Annika has made a habit of sleeping with men in a position of power over her. Two professors, though the Ghoul noted that there might have been more unnamed ones, and at least one former employer.” He grinned, delighted in the pain he could see appearing in Copia’s eyes. “It would seem that you are not so special, after all.”

Copia wanted to lash out, to scream; wanted to prove to Papa that he was wrong, that Annika was not like that. But why would he lie about such things? Why do so after sending his executioner after her? To prevent him from leaving? He had never even mentioned the desire to do so. It must have been for another reason: to keep him dependant under his power and authority. “I’ve only ever been a toy to you, I see that now. Perhaps you are right, and I will burn myself like a moth on a flame. But whatever happens, it will be a better fate than being a pawn on your board for centuries. Goodnight, Ferruccio.” He gave a stiff bow, and left.

The victory was bitter, if it was a victory at all, and Papa stared at the fire for a long time, trying to understand why he was so dissatisfied with this outcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies, I simply can't resist Vampire Papa II.


End file.
